Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
The scent of pizza hits me as I follow Victor down a hall and into a small kitchen. My stomach growls but Victor didn’t bring me out here to feed me, I realize. Instead a member of the Iron Blood—Paladin—is sitting on one of the folding chairs around the cheap card table, holding a bloodied towel to his brow.
His foxlike gaze cuts to me. “You’re the nurse, yeah? This shit won’t stop bleeding.”
Then he can bleed out, for all I care. But as he lifts the towel away from his face, I see that wouldn’t happen, anyway. The wound isn’t deep—just a split over his eyebrow—but hardly life-threatening.
Unfortunately. “Do you have any superglue?”
I ask Victor, but he doesn’t need to answer. Hotel strides into the kitchen carrying a first-aid kit. I don’t remember Papa mentioning that he’d join Victor, but I’m not really surprised. If this trip is punishment for the guards, then Hotel must be paying for leaving his post to go smoke. He’s probably glad he wasn’t given the same punishment as Bravo.
I don’t thank him when he gives me the kit, but I end up enjoying the hell out of tending to Paladin, because it gives me a close-up view of how someone beat the shit out of him. I’ve tended to enough fighters after their bouts in the Cage to recognize the damage that fists and feet can do, and someone worked this asshole over good.
That’s someone I’d like to thank. Instead I only ask Paladin sweetly, “Did you win?” and his glower answers that.
I finish up and set the first-aid kit next to the stack of pizza boxes. Only two slices left, but I’m not asking permission. I take them both and slide them onto a paper plate, then sit on the chair across from Paladin.
The slices are cold and greasy and the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I force myself to go slow, though I’m terrified that Victor will drag me away from the first real food I’ve had in ages. But he doesn’t order me to put down the pizza or to go finish up my makeup and hair—because of what Paladin is telling him, I realize after a moment.
“He left town?” Victor asks, frowning.
“Yeah, but they left their shit in the motel room.” Paladin twists the cap off a beer—and realizing that there are sodas in the fridge, I grab a Pepsi and take it back to my pizza.
Nothing ever tasted so good.
Through my fat and sugar and caffeine high, I listen to Paladin tell Victor that someone is coming back—the fighter they want me to lure, I slowly figure out.
Victor scrubs his hand over his face. “Why not just get another one?”
He shrugs. “Usually we would. But someone called in a favor.”
Because most of the fighters are chosen for their performance in the underground matches that these motorcycle clubs participate in during their bike rallies. But not all of them. Like Matt. The club he was undercover in had been working with Papa. But when a job went wrong, the Cage was his punishment. So it sounds like the guy they’re looking at now fought like many of the others…but that’s not the reason he was chosen. Instead he pissed off the wrong person.
My stomach draws up tight. Though I know that doesn’t mean this target is a good guy…well, I can’t help it. Anyone who pisses off these assholes is someone whose side I’d rather be on.
“This town is full of bikers,” Victor says. “How do we recognize him?”
We. Because Victor will be watching me do this.
“You won’t be able to miss him. He’s a big, scarred fucker and wears a Hellfire Riders kutte. But I think we got pictures.” He raises his voice, calls out, “Hey, pretty boy! Get your ass in here for a minute.”
Pretty boy. Paladin’s not kidding. The biker who walks into the kitchen is hands-down the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—in real life or in movies or an Instagram feed. Near-black hair, a square jaw, and pale blue eyes. His rumpled shirt is half unbuttoned, and he’s zipping himself up…because he was just having sex in the other room, I realize. He’s not wearing a vest but it hardly seems to matter—I won’t need a name to identify him. He’s so gorgeous that it’s like a kick in the gut, stealing my breath for a second.
Then utter disappointment follows, because if he’s friends with these guys, then all that beauty is a lie and he’s an evil piece of shit.
A pretty, blue-eyed devil.
And a creep. He hands his phone over to Victor, and while tinny sounds of cheers and a fight come from the speaker, his glacial blue eyes look me over appraisingly.
“This is the virgin pussy that’s supposed to reel him in?”
“Yep,” Paladin confirms.